


Biding Time

by IntuitivelyFortuitous



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, just a little drabble i wrote for no reason at all other than to write it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-04-25
Packaged: 2018-10-23 18:53:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10725162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntuitivelyFortuitous/pseuds/IntuitivelyFortuitous
Summary: This time, there's nothing they can do to stop it. This time their only weapons are hope and faith.





	Biding Time

**Author's Note:**

> Why not?

“Spock,” Jim said, his body leaning like he was going to step forward, “you can’t. There’s got to be a better way.”

“There is no other way, Admiral,” he replied. “There is no other way _Jim_.”

McCoy felt his heart sink. His throat wasn’t working like it was supposed to, like it so often did when he needed it to do the opposite. When he opened his mouth, his voice was released in a silent exhale instead. Maybe the sand was getting to him.

“Don’t,” he managed, stepping forward. “Spock, you don’t know what they’ll do to you.”

Spock looked at him, deep brown eyes encased by familiar wrinkles. Leonard wanted to touch him, make sure this was all real, feel the warmth beneath Spock’s robes. There was a pressure on his chest that he hadn’t felt for years, making it hard to breathe. He blinked rapidly.

“I am the only one who has the potential to survive,” Spock reasoned, his voice steady and monotone. It felt shallow. It didn’t feel like a promise at all.

“I can’t let you do that,” McCoy said, grabbing him by the arm.

“He’s right,” Jim attempted, but they could tell he was trying harder than before to remain on his feet. They didn’t have enough time. There was never enough time.

Spock didn’t move. His feet were grounded against the crumbles of grey that covered the ground. Jim’s fists were clenched in the absence of a phaser, but his eyes flickered to the glass temple in the distance like he would confront it bare handed if he could. The way he put himself between it and Spock told McCoy that _they_ were still there, waiting. Leonard’s eyesight wasn’t quite good enough to tell anymore. He squeezed the arm that he had captured in protest and a green-tinted hand rose to cover his.

He didn’t realize that he had gravitated closer until Spock’s voice resonated into his ear. Only up close could he hear the worry that had been buffeted away by the wind. “You do not have a hypospray to stop me this time, Doctor. I am afraid we have no other choice.”

Spock certainly didn’t look afraid. He looked resigned to his fate, if nothing else. And the worst part was that he was right. Jim was already injured. A dark stain was smudged on the side of his ribcage, but he looked like he barely noticed. And McCoy, well…if the doctor subjected himself to whatever torture these people had in mind, who would be the one to save him this time?

“Do it again,” he ordered, pressing the other man’s fingertips to his temple. When there was no dizzying pressure, he trapped the other hand, too. “Come on, Spock. I held your katra once, I can do it again.”

Spock's eyes were pitying. He glanced at Jim who who pleaded wordlessly. “I would oblige, doctor,” he said, making no move to reclaim his hands, “but I cannot release it twice.”

He felt a distinct prickling in the corner of his eyes. It was the wind, he told himself, the icy wind that mussed Spock's fine black hair. For a cold blooded creature, the hands he held were terribly warm. He took one of them, looking away from Spock's apologies and Jim’s concealed pain, and pressed a kiss to the palm. Somehow, feeling the heartbeat pulse beneath his lips just made it more difficult. Jim came up behind him, resting his hand on the back of Spock's white robes and leaving a smear of red that jarred McCoy from his reverie.

“They’re coming,” Jim said. “Spock, please—”

“I will not,” he said, breaking the hold on his hands and trailing his fingertips over McCoy’s cheek and lips in a final resolve.

Jim, he kissed too, softly, too quick for him to do anything but flicker his eyelids shut before Spock turned his back to them and said nothing else as he walked away. His robes fanned out like they were made of paper. Spots from the rain darkened his shoulders. Jim lurched forward, feet sinking into the grey bentonite. He fell to his knees when the dirt refused to give way, fingers grasping at his belt for the comm. Leonard fell in beside him like he always did, reaching around in a half-embrace to put pressure on the wound as best as he could.

“Good luck, Spock,” he whispered, letting his knees sink into the dark clay.

He wasn’t sure if it was gratifying or all the more painful when Spock paused for just one moment, three hundred yards away, before meeting the creatures that were to take him away.


End file.
